


Sell Me Something Big And Untamed

by Ladytalon



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-07
Updated: 2010-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladytalon/pseuds/Ladytalon





	Sell Me Something Big And Untamed

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [firefly](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/firefly), [jayne cobb](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/jayne%20cobb), [mal reynolds](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/mal%20reynolds), [mal/jayne](http://midnightatnoon.livejournal.com/tag/mal/jayne)  
  
  
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**Title:** Sell Me Something Big And Untamed  
**Author:** [](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladytalon1**](http://ladytalon1.livejournal.com/)  
**Pairing:** Mal/Jayne  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making any $$  
**A/N:** AU.

_   
**Sell Me Something Big And Untamed**   
_

________________________________________

His father leads him along the pens, pointing out the occasional brand that the traders haven't completely removed. "See that? That's sloppy work," the older man says with a frown. The cattle continue to make their lowing sounds and chew their cud placidly as Len Reynolds concludes his deal with the men. "Have any help for sale?" Mal lifts his eyes from inspecting the crude curve of the barbed wire fence at this, and Len motions him forward. "Think you can handle pickin' one out?"

"Yes, sir," Mal assures his father, pulling his back straight in an effort to show his trustworthiness. Before, he's had to simply wait for Len to pick them out and this is an opportunity to show how much he's learned. They walk into the hold of the ship and Len hangs back to let his son survey the 'help', a motley group of women, children, and oldsters who huddle together with blank expressions in their eyes. "Where are the men?" Mal asks, then flushes as he remembers that the males are always kept apart from the others and they've probably been sold already anyway; the traders pass by many outposts and moons before they reach Shadow.

One of the men, a potbellied thug with roughly three strands of hair to his name, spits on the deck grating. "Only got a couple left; hard to sell cos of their age – too young t'be worked hard and too old for any of them fancy boy tastes some buyers got." He spits again for emphasis and points with his chin to another door. "In there."

Mal hesitates, looking at his father for permission. Len nods, so he walks forward and slides open the door. Inside the lowlit cabin, he sees five young boys scattered around by the walls and is just about to turn back when his attention is caught by a pair of blue eyes so full of hatred that it makes him take a step back. Unlike the others with their tear-filled, averted eyes, this one is staring at him angrily as if he'd take him apart piece by piece just for the fun of it and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this is the one he wants. His father said he could pick a slave to tame, just like he'd break the wild horses Len would buy when they had enough coin. Mal stares just a little too long and steps just a little too close, for the boy (who must be near to his own age) twists his lips into a snarl and lunges at him.

The boy hits the end of his lead just as he's nearly close enough to reach Mal, who stumbles back in panic as his attacker is jerked back by the collar around his neck and hits the deck with a loud thump. "Gorrammit, not again…!" The traders run in and converge around the large youth, sending him back to his place along the wall with kicks and blows that are met with grunts, but nothing else. "Told ya we shouldda dumped him soon's we hit atmo," the bald man hisses to his partner. "Ain't no one wants him, an' we're just losin' money."

Something makes Mal step forward just as the other trader draws his boot back to plant it in the slave's ribs once more. "I'll take him," he offers.

The trader grins unpleasantly. "You don't want this'un, son. He'll either run away or twist your head off your shoulders in yer sleep, an' then your pa won't want us to be comin' 'round to show our wares." To the bald man, he just says, "Put his ass in the airlock. We'll dump him on the way out."

Desperation wells up inside of Mal and he darts forward once more. "No. I said I'll take him." He thrusts out the roll of credits he's earned over the last few years, saving up for an opportunity just like this. "How much?"

In the end, he parts with a little more than half his hard-earned wages and the slave he's just purchased is hobbled with wire before being dragged out of the hold. "You best watch that one," he's warned. "He gets loose, you'll hafta put him down afore he rapes your momma or some such thing." Len Reynolds just looks at his son with an inscrutable expression on his face and tells him to take the boy up to the main barn to get him cleaned up.

Away from the darkness of the trader's hold, the youth is even bigger than Mal had thought he was and overtops him by several inches. He's also older than he looked at first glance; Mal would estimate at him even being a year or two older, judging from the dusting of facial hair on his wide jaw. His blue eyes still glare hatred beneath a tangle of dark brown curls. "Let's get you cleaned up," Mal says in the encouraging tone he's heard his father use many a time with new slaves, before they settle down and get domesticated enough to start earning their freedom by laboring for the Reynolds family.

The youth doesn't move except to jerk his head around and spit with stunning accuracy right between Mal's eyes. "_Qu ni de_ ," he growls, and tries to lunge at Mal again. The wire around his ankles tightens at the movement and, once again, he's dumped on his face. Some of the ranch hands come over to help their boss's son, and the older boy is lifted onto the small transport wagon to be taken back to the barn. He puts up an impressive fight when they drag him out of the wagon and up against the barn wall, chaining his wrists above his head. The youth pulls on the chains and kicks in an effort to free himself, and finally falls into a stubborn slump at the end of the ropes that hold him as he's hobbled anew.

"I've got it under control," Mal says to the help who hide their smiles at his effort to sound like his father. He waits until they leave before stepping up to the young man and examining him.

"Whatcha lookin' at," comes the guttural snarl he's been waiting for.

This time, he's ready for the gob of saliva that's fired his way and he jerks his head to avoid it. "You don't gotta be afraid, I ain't gonna hurt you," he says softly in the same tone he uses with terrified and angry colts who don't want him to come near. "What's your name?"

The blue eyes seem to fairly glow with rage. "_Wo cao ni yeye de sao pi yanr!_"

Mal wishes he'd payed more attention to how to go about this when his father bought the last slave and fights not to give into the temptation to give his new property a punch in the face – doesn't he know what Mal has saved him from? "Don't be talkin' 'bout my granddaddy," he warns before he can help himself, and the other boy's cracked lips part in a slight smile at having succeeded in needling him.

"Why'n't ya just unchain me so's you can give me a whuppin'?" The youth taunts, but Mal is having none of it and turns away to grab up the hose. New arrivals always get looked after by the ones who have made the transition into indentured servitude, but this new one doesn't know that and Mal's looking forward to turning the icy water on him in retaliation for getting spit on. Besides, he's heard his father mention that this sort of thing can help break their spirit earlier on so they're easier to work with. With that rationale fixed in his head, he turns on the water and starts to spray the youth with it. The chains jerk as he tries to avoid the freezing water, swearing in terms that would make Mal's mother faint dead away if she heard.

Mal finally cuts the water off and stares at the older boy. "What's your name?"

The boy starts swearing again, and is again drenched. Mal loses count of how many times he asks the same question and gets insulting answers in return, but finally it seems as if he's won. "J-J-J-Jayne," the big youth stutters, his skin blue from cold.

"What's your last name?" Mal doesn't know exactly why he asks because he knows more prodding will only revive the rebellious, angry spirit that has been temporarily doused by repeated applications of cold water.

He raises the hose warningly, not really intending to follow through, when his mother rounds the barn in search of him and sees what's happening. "Malcolm Reynolds! What on earth do you think you're doing?" she exclaims, and Mal's stomach sinks at the anger in her face. He hadn't meant to take it so far, but Jayne had just been so _stubborn_… "This the new boy your Pa was talkin' about?"

"He's mine," Mal reminds her. "Paid for him with m' own coin."

His mother gives him a look that makes him feel five years old again. "You should know better." Turning to Jayne, she walks right up to the shuddering youth and lays her palm on his forehead as if she either doesn't know or doesn't care that a new-bought slave is dangerous. "Let's get you out of these, darlin'. Don't rightly know what he was thinkin', chainin' you up like this." Sterling Reynolds gives him a look. "You gonna try anything when he takes you in to warm up?" she asks softly. Jayne is silenced completely by the kindness he wasn't expecting anyone to have for him and just shakes his head slowly to tell her that he won't be any trouble at all. "Good boy. You'll be fit for the table in no time," she says in farewell, referring to the large table inside the main house where they all gather for meals, but he doesn't know that.

When Mal unhooks the chain to lead him to his quarters, Jayne is true to his unspoken word and doesn't fight to be released but as soon as the young man is given over to one of the older indentured servants and Mal turns to walk back to the house, a gobbet of spit splatters against the back of his neck.

  


tbc…  
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End file.
